


Don’t Matter How You Worship

by ruric



Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Community: comment_fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-15
Updated: 2009-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Easy there, cowboy"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don’t Matter How You Worship

Ellen’s head comes up when the door opens and for ever after she never quite knows why she looked up when she did.

A ripple of silence follows him, the stutter and hitch of conversations pausing as the threat is assessed. The slight twitch of his lips tells her he knows exactly the effect he’s having.

He moves like a hunter and Ellen knows he’s checked the room and mapped all the exits by the time he reaches the bar. She sends Jo to serve him and is amused at the slight the lift of an eyebrow he shoots her.

Rumors of increased activity and a nest vampires moving through has got everyone a little jumpy and the bar’s full. Ellen splits her attention between the conversations going on around her, gathering the information she needs to know while keeping an eye on Jo and the stranger.

Her gaze is drawn back to him, watching his fingers curl around the bottle and slowly strip the label away and no way should watching a guy play with his beer make her ache to feel the touch of his hands. It’s more than a little disconcerting that every time she looks over she finds he’s watching her. She’s never been a shy woman but the intensity of his gaze curls a shiver of warmth deep in her belly.

By the end of the night when she finally sends Jo upstairs and shoos the last customer out – with the assurance that she can deal with the stranger if he tries anything... _and oh please god let him be amenable to **her** trying something_ – her skin feels one size to small. The flush staining her cheeks has little to do with how busy they’ve been and everything to do with the way he’s been looking at her, undressing her with every glance.

He’s leaning back against the bar waiting for her. The sway to her hips as she walks over has something predatory about it and she can see frank appreciation in his eyes. She doesn’t want to know his story, doesn’t care for his name, just slides her hand into the weight of his hair and licks her way into a mouth tasting of beer and whisky and a promise.

His arm circles her back, his other hand riding her hip and the hardness she feels as she presses evidence he wants her as much as she wants him.

Her mouth’s torn from his as he lifts her into his arms and strides towards the pool table.

“Easy there cowboy,” her throaty laugh curls around them to be answered by his.

“Easy my ass. Been waiting all night for you.”

He sets her down against the table, her fingers eager to touch skin, to dig into the muscle she can feel under his shirt. His hands strip her as efficiently as she peels his own clothes away and then he’s pushing her back, the itchiness of the baize under her shoulders forgotten with the heat of his mouth on the hollow of throat. Lips and tongue paint trail of fire down to her nipples, hard even before his teeth begin to worry them. 

Spine arching pressing into his mouth and the warm huff of laughter just makes the fire burn brighter. She hooks a leg behind his hips, pulls him closer and fists her hand tighter into his hair, dragging him back up, because she’s wet and wanting and _ready_ damn it.

“What are you waiting for?” 

If she sounds demanding she really doesn’t give a damn.

“Always did love a woman who knows what she wants.”

Her smartass response is stolen by the hardness of him sliding into her so slowly that her breath catches at the back of her throat. The spill of heat floods from her cheeks to her chest and her whole body is on fire and if she could find the breath to tell him to move she would. 

He sucks on her lip and she feels it, feels it in the unsteady pounding of her heart and the hollowness of her belly and the ache where she’s clenched tight around him. His tongue invades her mouth and her hips lifting wanting more and _now_ and he slips a little deeper before pulling back.

She can’t stop the groan, can’t stop the way her legs tighten on his hips trying to force him back and he laughs into their kiss. His hands curve around her hips holding her down and she knows she’ll wear the marks of his fingers for days. 

He sets a rhythm she can match and then there’s nothing but the slide of his skin against hers, the whisper of his breath and caress of his lips, and if this is as close as Ellen gets to worshipping these days, then it’s good enough.


End file.
